


Caught The Cat's Eye

by missingnolovefic



Series: Not A Good Man (But You Got Conviction) [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Batman AU, Batman!Ryan, Catlad!Gavin, Cats, Catwoman!Meg, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Excessive Cat Puns, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Robin!Jeremy, Robin!Trevor, Secret Identity, Villain Introduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18850009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/pseuds/missingnolovefic
Summary: While Ryan is busy flirting with one Meg Turney, Jeremy and Trevor investigate Gotham's latest crime spree... by visiting a cat shelter.Puns abound.





	Caught The Cat's Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to Kays and V for being terrible, terrible enablers. Make sure to check out/subscribe to the series, as we'll all post stories in this AU independantly!

Ryan walks into the opening gala with a model on each arm, a blonde and a brunette. The paparazzi shout for his attention, the endless flash of photos being taken, and Ryan smiles, winks, gives them a jaunty wave before curling his arms around each model’s waist and leading them inside. He buys them a drink, introduces them to the people they’d asked him to in return for accompanying him tonight. Then he leaves them to it and goes to mingle.

Sabrina Haywood was a model first and foremost, long before she met his father. Worked off her student debts with titillating shoots and was dragged through the press for it when she started dating the Haywood heir, and it continued even after her death. It left a lingering impression on Ryan.

When he was 18, fresh out of school and not yet ready to go to college, he’d travelled to Italy and France. A short stint of modelling in Milan, Rome, Paris, and he still keeps his connections up to date for occasions like tonight. An opportunity for young models to network, while lending him the flair of his carefully curated image of a heartthrob bachelor playboy.

The gala is to celebrate the re-opening of the Gotham Museum of Antiquities after recent renovations. All big givers and sponsors are invited, the crop of Gotham’s social elite gathered to schmooze. Ryan would’ve preferred a night on the rooftops, watching over Gotham’s street, but he hasn’t been seen in public for too long, as Jack reminded him. A nice, relaxing evening out on town to have his picture taken seemed just the thing.

Though Jack’s and his definition of ‘a nice, relaxing evening’ certainly differ. Ryan would rather spend it in the cave, on research.

“Ah, Mr. Haywood, isn’t it?”

Ryan turns to face a petite, young woman. Her wine red dress wraps tight around her curves, hugging her decolté with a sweetheart neckline and ending in a cascade of one-sided ruffles, a slit leaving her left leg bare. She’s small despite her high heels, barely reaching his chin. Dark brown hair falls over her shoulders in waves, a sheen of dyed purple where the light hits it just right. Her painted lips pull into a wicked smile as she holds out a hand for him.

“Megan Turney, Director of Development. We spoke on the phone,” she introduces herself, her grip firm as she shakes his hand. “Thank you for your contribution to the Museum’s renovation efforts, Mr. Haywood. We very much appreciate it.”

“Please,” Ryan purrs, turning her hand over to brush his lips over her knuckles. In his best charming playboy voice, he offers, “Call me Ryan.”

“Then please call me Meg.” Her smile doesn’t falter, even as her brows twitch upward. Her tone remains pleasant, though she drops his hand the moment he lets go. “Mrs. Pye mentioned your family has donated quite a few of the antiquities on exhibit. I’m sorry to inform you that some have been damaged irreparably during the… disaster.”

“Ah, I suppose it was inevitable.” Ryan shrugs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I’m just glad that no one was seriously injured.”

“Yes. Quite.” Meg cocks her head, a glimmer of interest in her eyes. “You’ve followed up on the investigation?”

Whoops. Ryan hasn’t meant to give his knowledge of it away, or how involved he’s been in the incident. That is Batman, not the Haywood Industries heir and CEO. How to spin it into the guileless interest of just another rich boy… Ah.

“Margaret mentioned as much,” he says, light and easy, as if it doesn’t mean a thing to him. Because why would a playboy billionaire care about anything but a pretty woman? “Were you at work that day? It must have been a horrible experience.”

The light dies in her eyes, goes cold as her face goes blank, and Ryan wants to sigh in relief as much as it pains him. She’s a beautiful woman, and clearly intelligent to get to her position this young. But he can’t care what she thinks of him, or rather, has to care that she thinks him vapid, careless. She puts on a smile reminiscent of the late Sabrina Haywood when she dealt with another dismissive rich douchebag and it _hurts_.

“I wasn’t, actually. My predecessor resigned after that catastrophe, leaving the spot open for me to fill in.” Her smile strains, bright and false. “But thank you for your concern, Mr. Haywood. Have you known _Mrs_. Pye for long, then?”

“After what happened… well. Margaret was in dire need of comfort.” Ryan keeps his words ambiguous, knows Meg catches the implication by the careful way her expression doesn’t change. “I’m afraid I couldn’t do much for the destroyed antiques, but I could provide that much, at least.”

He means hooking Margaret Pye up with a discreet therapist, but neglects to mention it on purpose, leaving the words and their implications hanging. He hopes she won’t mind the rumours, as they might further distract from her… involvement that day.

“I’m sure she was rather distraught over the loss of countless artefacts,” Meg replies diplomatically, folding her hands in front of her. Ryan smiles at her, puts on a vapid, empty mask.

“She’s always been a fan of shiny things.” Just like her chosen namesake, the magpie.

“Yes. Well.” Meg clears her throat. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Haywood. I hope you enjoy the gala.”

“Ryan,” he corrects her, reaching out and letting his fingers skim over her arm before dropping his hand. “And the pleasure was all mine. I do hope to see you again.”

“The Museum appreciates your generous contributions,” Meg says, though her lips twitch. “If you wanted to discuss future donations, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Dinner?” Ryan offers lightly, hoping to cement his persona in her eyes. Easier to get away with slip-ups later, if he makes a strong first impression.

“Lunch,” she counters, not wavering faced with his pout. “I don’t usually work that late.”

Ryan raises a brow and looks around the gala pointedly. Meg snorts, her smile turning more genuine.

“Usually,” she repeats and Ryan grins.

“Point taken.” He gives her a dramatic bow farewell. “Have a good evening, Ms. Turney.”

“Meg,” she corrects him, and it curls like a tendril of warmth through his chest. He smothers it ruthlessly.

 

* * *

 

There’s a new cat burglar running around Gotham, and the press are having a field day.

“The police were unable to cat-ch the purr-petrator so far, the police representative announced in a public statement about the new crime spree. Fur-tunately, they’ve taken to leaving a cat-shaped calling card, or rather, calling cat at the scene of the crime,” Jeremy reads out loud, and Ryan groans.

“Couldn’t they come up with better puns?” he asks plaintively, pushing out from under the batmobile where he’s been working on repairs.

“The title is ‘The Purr-fect Crime’, what did you expect?” Jeremy chuckles, clicking through the articles. “Looks like the thief left a cat pin or cat-shaped card in various locations all over Gotham’s suburbs. So far they’ve only hit mansions.” He pauses, throwing Ryan a look. “You think they’re gonna try to hit here, too?”

“It’s a possibility,” Ryan says and ignores Jeremy’s giggles as he mouths ‘paws-ibility’. “Commissioner Ramsey wants us to keep out of it for now, let the police do their work. But keep an eye out, anyway.”

Jeremy hums, this thoughtful look on his face. “Guess vigilantes aren’t the best PR for the local cops. So we stick to supers and villains?”

“More or less,” Ryan agrees before standing up, cleaning his hands on the oil rag. A glance at his phone as it pings and he grimaces. “I have a meeting in half an hour. Do something productive at some point at least.”

Jeremy stares after him for a long moment, giving a fleeting thought to the homework waiting for him in his room, before shaking his head and going back to the _a-paw-ling_ articles. He snickers. As he reads he starts stumbling over the addresses of the burglaries. They’re mostly neighbours, as far as neighbours go for Haywood Manor, sitting on top of its very own hill at a distance from all others. Rich people, he muses, which makes sense. No word on what was stolen except it’s obviously expensive. Businessmen mostly, like the most recent victim: CFO of a local corporation. Others are pure socialites, throwing money at charities and politicians and…

A thought percolates in the back of his mind and Jeremy skims the rest of the articles, not quite taking the words in. There’s something… a niggling thought, not yet ready to be verbalized…

He pulls up a map, starts marking the targets. No obvious clusters or patterns, there, aside from the fact that it’s only been rich neighbourhoods like theirs. No victim under the networth of a million, Jeremy realizes as he writes up a list of names. Looks a bit further into it, notes occupations and yearly income and donations-

“Well, hello there. Whatcha working on, boy wonder?” Trevor chirps, mouth next to Jeremy’s ear. Jeremy flinches, and Trevor chuckles. “I’ve been here for like fifteen minutes while you were staring at the screen. Quite frankly I can’t see what’s so interesting about a casino group.”

“What?” Jeremy startles, turning to look at him. Trevor frowns back.

“The list you’re looking at?” He gestures at the flat screen covering the wall. “From the new casino that’s gonna be build downtown? Lucky Paw, or whatever they’re calling it.”

Jeremy stares at him, blurting out, “You’re a genius, Trevor.”

“Well, duh.” Trevor preens, still looking confused. “Whatever for this time?”

“I’ve been looking for a pattern, a connection-” Jeremy leans forward, tapping rapidly away at the keyboard. Several windows pop up, articles about the planned entertainment block and the group behind it. A casino complex with hotel, restaurants, shopping area, the whole nine yards. Jeremy stares, triumph rising in his chest. This is it, what he’s been looking for! He whirls around, startling Trevor. “How’d you know?”

Trevor blinks, backing up a step. It’s only then Jeremy realizes how close they are standing, still within easy reach. He could reach out, pull Trevor back in- His cheeks are burning. If he’s not mistaken, Trevor’s are redder than usual too, as he clears his throat.

“I recognized some of the names. Hanson, Vale, Drake…” He trails off, dragging a hand through his hair. “I keep an eye on business news. In case it affects HI, you know? They bought out an entire block, except for a few holdouts that are expected to fold soon…”

Jeremy hums. Glances back at the list, then Trevor. Stretches oh so casually, knee bumping into Trevor’s leg.

“I’ve been cooped up in here for too long. Maybe I’ll go for a walk.” He smirks, cocking his head. “Wanna come with?”

Trevor arches a brow. “And if we happen to pass by the block where they’ll be building this casino…”

“Well.” Jeremy’s grin widens. “That would be a happy coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure,” Trevor agrees. “Coincidence.”

 

* * *

 

Meg waits for him in front of the restaurant, typing on her phone. She’s wearing a pink blazer and matching pencil skirt, with a white blouse underneath. Her hair is pulled up into an artistic knot, strands of dark hair framing one side of her face. Ryan smooths out his coat and checks a passing shop window, ruffling up his hair. It looks worse, after, and Ryan grimaces.

She catches him at it, raising a brow as he approaches, hurrying his steps as his face flushes. How embarrassing.

“Ms. Turney-” he starts, and her brow twitches. He pauses, takes a breathe and puts on his most charming smile. “Meg. I hope I haven’t left you waiting long.”

“Not at all,” she demurs, despite him being half an hour late. Nearly forgot he’s arranged this meeting in the first place until Jack reminded him. Her fingers dance over her phone before she puts it away, smiling up at him. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Ryan agrees and offers her his arm. Surprised when she takes it, considering his reputation. Then again she seems smart, and her job is to keep him in a generous mood, to keep her institution in his favour. He _is_ one of their major donors, after all, both in money and artefacts.

“Table for two,” he tells the maitre d’ with all the bluster of a rich man expecting to be served unannounced. The maitre d’ flounders, though he keeps an impressive poker face as he checks his book.

“Sir, we-”

Meg pats Ryan’s arm and clears her throat, drawing his attention.

“We have reservations. Under Turney,” she informs him, amusement colouring her words. At Ryan’s antic or this poor man’s flailing? Ryan files it away for later thought.

The maitre d’ deflates and gives her a shaky smile.

“Ah, yes. Of course, Ms. Turney. Mr. Haywood.” He clears his throat, stepping back from his station and holding out an arm in invitation. “Right this way.”

The restaurant Meg picked for their lunch date was fancy, but not the kind of swanky Ryan was used to. A good compromise for the Museum: stately enough to make Ryan feel important but not too expensive for Meg’s budget. Jeremy would probably disagree with his assessment (The prices aren’t even listed, Ryan, for fuck’s sake!) but. That’s how these meetings go.

“How have you been, Meg?” Ryan asks while perusing his menu. “The gala was quite the success, I hope?”

“Quite,” she agrees, setting down her menu already. Clearly she is familiar with the locale, perhaps even has an agreement with the owner; a discount for bringing rich and famous clients into their establishment? “The reopening was well received. We’ve had record numbers of visitors for this first week.”

Ryan hums, test-tasting the red wine their server offers him. With a nod he indicates it suitable, and the server goes about filling their glasses.

“I imagine many people want to use the chance to see the exhibits before the next big catastrophe.” He gives Meg a cynical smile. “I’m sure you’ll see one sooner rather than later.”

Meg tilts her head and sounds bemused as she asks, “Are they an occurrence that often, really?”

“Not as often as in Metropolis, but that’s not hard.” Ryan shrugs one shoulder and folds his menu. “My theory is… exhibits are themed by their very nature, and these so-called villains tend to stick with their chosen monikers. Maybe they feel its a challenge to feature their field?”

“And there’s enough villains to cover the most common themes, making avoiding them a hassle,” Meg muses, fingering the long stem of her wine glass.

Ryan raises his and waits for her to _clink_ them together in a toast.

“May they take their time this once.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Meg laughs, seeming amused by his antics. Ryan can’t quite tell if she means it or is just that good of an actress.

He’s distracted from his thoughts by the waiter returning, ready to take their orders. He looks towards Ryan, expression attentive. Ryan arches a brow and inclines his head in Meg’s  direction.

“Lady’s first,” he drawls with the lightest of rebukes he can manage. The waiter doesn’t react, just turns to look at her instead, but Meg is visibly taken aback. She covers it with a smile and orders with the confidence of a regular, but she keeps shooting him curious glances while the waiter fusses over their table.

Only once the waiter is gone, leaving them to the relative privacy of their corner, does Ryan raise an inquiring eyebrow.

“You seem surprised,” he states, though it is more of a question. Meg smiles, the skin around her eyes tight.

“Most other major donors I’ve dined with have very… peculiar ideas about what a young woman should eat.” Her lips curl in distaste before she catches herself, smoothing out her expression. “Or they want to impress me with some exotic dish or other. It’s fine,” she adds, seeing his alarmed look. “The chef has a list of my allergies and dietary restrictions. Still-” Her smile seems friendlier, more genuine now. “-it’s refreshing to choose.”

Ryan isn’t sure what to say to that, and Meg takes pity on him, changes the topic. They talk business and exchange gossip during the entrée, time flying as Ryan relaxes into the banter. His first impression of Meg is spot on: quick wit and clever tongue, coy enough to leave room for ambiguity, but always, always leading back to work.

It’s during the main course when Meg pulls out her phone, checking something after it pings. There’s a small black kitty pendant tied through a loop at the top, with pink rhinestone building eyes and a collar. Ryan can’t help himself, he smiles.

“You like cats?” he asks, pointing his empty fork at the pendant. Meg glances up, humming distractedly.

“Yes.” She puts down her phone and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, something came up.”

Ryan lowers his fork, shooting her a concerned look. “Do you need to leave early?”

“Ah, no, no, it should be fine.” She glanced back down at her phone before stuffing it back into her purse. Ryan frowns.

“Please, if you need to- I’m not going to keep you here.”

“No, really.” Her smile still looks tighter than before, more strained. “It’s nothing, it’s fine. My roommate is taking care of it.”

“Cat related trouble?” Ryan guesses, thinking of the menagerie of cats Jeremy keeps in his wing. There’s _always_ cat related trouble in his experience.

Meg gives him a startled look. “You could say so.” She picks her knife and fork back up. “Do you have cats, Ryan?”

“I do. Well,” he amends in a self-deprecating tone, waving his hand, “my ward does. They seem to multiply every time I look away, too.”

“That does sound familiar.” Meg’s eyes glitter with amusement. “I have some myself, as does my roommate. We’re both rather cat crazy.”

“Really,” Ryan murmurs, voice dropping into a smooth baritone as he offers her his most charming smile. “I wouldn’t have guessed. Why don’t you tell me about them?”

The rest of lunch passes with them sharing several anecdotes about their pets, ranging from the long-suffering to bemused bafflement. Meg grows more animated with the new topic, more personable as she talks about her six cats (or are there eight? Ryan loses count of names somewhere between Smee and Ziggy), and Ryan returns the favour, talking about Jeremy’s Booker and Scooter and Zipper, and all the other cats he keeps smuggling into the manor.

It makes Meg laugh, throwing her head back and arching her throat, a gorgeous tableau. She laughs and confides in him, mischief glinting in her eyes, about her own antics with her roommate. A kernel of hope grows in Ryan’s chest when she looks at him like that, something small and fragile.

Not that he’ll ever admit it, of course. No, this lunch date is purely one of convenience, to curate his image as lackadaisical playboy.

 

* * *

 

“Is that a cat shelter?” Jeremy asks, his entire body vibrating with excitement. Trevor glances across the street where Jeremy is pointing and sighs because yes, it very much looks like it. Jeremy whirls around and stares up at him with wide, round eyes and a pout on his lips. Trevor arches a brow at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. _I’m_ not the one you need to convince,” he drawls. Jeremy immediately drops the act, nodding along.

“You’re right, right.” He pulls out his phone, heading for the next crosswalk. Trevor trails after him, resigning himself to his fate. “I’ll text Jack real quick.”

 _Not_ what he meant, but fair enough. Besides, with Jack and Jeremy teaming up, there is no way Ryan can tell both of them no. Not after Jack made his point by burning Ryan’s breakfast ‘on accident’ for a week straight after Ryan protested him adopting their newest stray, Squeak.

He looks around, takes note of the boarded up shop fronts and signs announcing clearance sales. The Old Cats Sanctuary shelter is nestled between a tourist shop with record sales between 70-90% on all wares and a closed down former bakery. Trevor doesn’t need to look at the street sign to realize that this is the block the casino group is looking to buy up for their entertainment project.

Trevor lets Jeremy drag him into the shelter, watching with barely concealed concern as the excitement makes way for a more subdued expression as Jeremy takes in the posters in the windows and the tense atmosphere inside.

“Excuse me?” he asks a blond guy on a ladder, working on the security camera in the corner. The blond glances over his shoulder back at them, wobbling on the ladder and flailing his arms. Trevor reaches out instinctively to steady him.

“Yes?” the blond asks as he steps down, tugging a screwdriver into his worker’s belt. “Can I help you?”

Jeremy stops and blinks, sharing a look with Trevor. He has a British accent - West Country, if Trevor has to guess. He shrugs and Jeremy turns back to the blond.

“Hi, yes. We just saw the poster walking by - are you closing the shelter down?”

“Yes.” The blond looks grim at the reminder. “We got a court order to move out by the end of the month, but we haven’t been able to find a different place yet - so we’re hoping to get as many of the cats adopted by then as we can.”

Trevor frowns, glancing around. Going by the name of this place… it’s hard to find a place for older cats. Everyone wants a cute kitten, after all. Looking at Jeremy, he knows his friend has come to the same conclusion, expression knit into determination.

“Well, we’re here to help,” Trevor declares, his stomach fluttering at the surprised look Jeremy shoots him. “We’ve got a couple cats already but the house is big enough, and we’ve got a decent garden…”

The Brit looks skeptical but holds out a hand. “I’m Gavin. I volunteer here on my free afternoons.”

“Trevor,” he introduces himself, shaking Gavin’s hand. “And this is my friend, Jeremy. The cats are really his, to be fair.”

“They needed a place to stay, and we’ve got the space,” Jeremy states, crossing his arms to mock-glare at Trevor. Then he turns a grin towards Gavin, the dazzling one he stole from Ryan’s media persona. “But then, you can never have enough cats. I’ve got some friends who like cats, too.”

“Why don’t you show us around and we figure out the details?” Trevor offers, pulling his standard HI business card from his wallet. Gavin humms, glancing down before doing a double-take. Probably isn’t expecting the CEO of Haywood Industries to be about his age (and he can’t wait to hand it over to Ryan soon, go to college with Jeremy and take a break from all the petty adult squabbles). Trevor’s smile sharpens. “I can prove that we have the space and funds to take care of the cats, if necessary.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow and his smile is just as sharp as he looks Trevor over. “Why don’t you let Holly show you around while I make sure this checks out? You understand, of course.”

He waves the card, and Trevor grins. Nobody ever suspects him to be a CEO as young as he is, often assume it to be a con. The look on their faces when they realize it’s true... “Of course.”

Jeremy is already turning to the woman Gavin waves over. “Are there any pairs that should stay together? Or any groups that get along particularly well? We’ve got eight cats of various ages running around on the grounds right now, so the less conflict the better probably. Though there’s more than enough space if there’s any solitary ones, too.”

Trevor shakes his head, smiling fondly as he trails after Jeremy, chatting excitedly with the shelter assistant. From the corner of his eyes, he notices Gavin watching them, thoughtful frown etched into his forehead. He wiggles his fingers at him and decides to run his own background check on the shelter’s voluntary personnel once back home.

Fair’s fair, after all.

 

* * *

 

Ryan’s swinging by when he notices the suspicious shadows on a rooftop. Despite his promise to Commissioner Ramsey, he can’t help his curiosity, and when patrol ends up not turning anything up but a pickpocket and a random thug, he decides to take another pass past the hotels in midtown. Several of the robbed victims were staying in the various penthouses or secondary apartments while the police investigation keeps them out of their homes.

Ramsey can’t be mad at him for happening to run into this new cat burglar. It’s not like  he sought them out.

The robbery seems well in progress as Ryan settles on a gargoyle of the Gotham Cathedral across the street, taking in the scene. Two slim figures - one by the roof access door, holding a flat square (tablet? some gadget?), with the other closing a window on the top story penthouse, climbing up to meet their accomplice on the rooftop, a bag strapped to their back. Quiet, efficient, and not triggering any of the security the Sorola Hotel likely has installed. Fascinating.

Ryan shoots a grappling hook, wrapping itself around the chimney, and swings across to the other roof. The two figures freeze in place, their heads snapping around. They’re wearing catsuits, he notices from this close, or something very like it, as well as black masks covering the top half of their faces, black triangles sticking out on top. Their eyes are locked unerringly on him, despite the dark of night. So he takes a step out of the shadows and lowers his voice.

“That doesn’t belong to you.”

The two thieves exchange a look between them. Then the smaller one slings the backpack off, and for a moment Ryan is surprised that actually worked. Except the taller one nods and catches the bag before it hits the floor, and the smaller one goes for something attached to their belt-

Ryan reacts before he can think, throwing a batarang to knock the weapon from their hand. Something long and black clatters to the floor, but before he can get a better look, the thief is already engaging him in hand to hand combat.

There’s two things he takes away from their first exchange of blows. For one, the thief is quite skilled in martial arts (judo, if he has to guess, with a mix of various other disciplines thrown in). For another, she’s quite flexible and knows exactly how to use her lower center of balance against taller opponents.

He’s so focussed on not letting her use gravity against him, less he ends up pinned down on the roof, the beep of a device landing at his feet catches him off-guard. It blinks once and then hisses as smoke is released from the tiny container.

“Catwoman!” the other thief calls - accented voice, foreign, hard to place in his disorientation, trying not to lose track of his targets.

“Split!” she shouts back (to his left, and his head snaps around, lunging through the smoke in the hopes of… tackling her, grabbing her, finding her-) “Meet at the Cradle!”

The smoke is already dissipating, and through it he can make out a shade hopping over the edge of the roof. Ryan rushes after them, staring over the ledge, relief flooding through him as he sees the fire escape stairway spiralling down. One of the thieves is vaulting over the railings, catching themself each story before dropping down to another. Ryan jumps, spreading his cape to buffer his fall, catching up to the black figure quickly. He lands on the railing just as long fingers let go, catches eyes widening in shock behind green-tinted lenses.

The cat burglar tumbles down to the next set of stair, barely landing on their feet.

It’s the taller one, backpack securely fastened to their back, short blond hair sticking out behind the cat-eared half-mask. The thief shakes himself, scrambling upright just as Ryan drops down in front of them.

“Bloody hell,” he curses as he stumbles back, and Ryan hits record on his belt, hoping to analyze the accent later. It sounds vaguely British, but may as well be Australian for all the guy’s said so far.

“There’s no use in running,” Ryan rumbles, taking a threatening step forward.

“D’you wager,” the thief says, seemingly curious. He pulls a metal cylinder from his belt - long, about the size of a pen - and throws it at Ryan’s face.

Ryan bats it away with a batarang, the cylinder splitting apart to attach magnetically to the metal grate of the stairs. A current electrifies the metal between the two ends, and Ryan has never been so glad for the rubber soles of his boots, isolation the only thing between him and electrocution. The thief doesn’t hesitate, uses his distraction and throws down a handful of caltrops between them before taking a running leap and jumping off the stairs.

Ryan curses, taking care to avoid the electrified caltrops as he follows the thief.

Somehow between jumping and Ryan making it to the railing, the thief has found his way to the lower rooftops of shops, running in a mad dash between chimneys and billboards to put distance between them. Ryan narrows his eyes and finds a good spot for his grappling hook, sailing after him. A shortcut, and Ryan quickly makes up ground, starting to catch up with the thief-

With his attention focussed on the thief in front of him, he fails to notice the one above and to his left. That is, until Catwoman suddenly leaps at him, her boots digging into his sides and tackling him to the ground. She doesn’t stop to check on him, though, rolling with the momentum and coming up running.

“Catlad! Now!” she calls out, and Ryan hears the hiss of smoke bombs before he sees them, followed closely by the sound of glass shattering.

Damn it.

He taps the side of his mask, setting his lenses from night to heat vision. Two red humanoid shapes vanish into a small square (broken window? Downwards trajectory, into the building? They’re still close to the Gotham Cathedral, there’s not many buildings with skylights. The greenhouses are too far out, they haven’t run that far yet. The museum or the train station?)

Ryan doesn’t hesitate and jumps through the hole, going after the thieves blind. Looking around, he can’t see any heat signatures, so he switches back to night vision. Judging by the pedestals… yeah, they’re in the museum. In the antique pottery exhibit, to be exact. It’s a wonder the alarm isn’t ringing, Ryan muses as he walks between the showcases, keeping an eye and an ear out for his prey.

He stops, doing a double take. There, on the far end where one exhibit merges with the next, the woman stands, holding up a necklace to the moonlight.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she purrs, and Ryan clicks his lenses back to colour vision. The embedded gems look like chrysoberyl. Ryan suppresses a sigh. Cat’s Eye. Of course.

“Put it back, Catwoman,” he orders, stepping closer. She turns, throwing him a dazzling smile and holding the necklace up to her decolté, the zipper having been pulled down to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. Ryan tries his hardest not to look.

“Don’t you think it suits me?” she asks, her lips pulling into a lethal pout.

“I think it looks purrfect, love,” the other thief chimes in, pressing up against Ryan’s back. He tenses, not having heard him sneak up. Silent as a cat, indeed. He purrs into Ryan’s ear, “Pawdon the interruption.”

Ryan can’t quite tell if it’s Catlad’s accent or if Jeremy’s incessant puns have gotten to him.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Ryan says, trying to find his footing again in these changed circumstances. Ambush? They aren’t acting hostile, not yet, but…

“Can’t let that stand, can we?” The thief’s hands slide up his back, landing on his shoulders. “I’m the one they call Catlad. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Ryan replies distractedly, hand inching to his belt. They’re in close quarters, and the woman at least is proficient in hand-to-hand combat, while the man seems to favour gadgets and tech. He’s going to need every advantage he can get to take them down.

“Oh?” Catwoman perks up, sauntering over to them, her hips swaying. She leans in, her gloved fingers gliding over his chestplate. “I must say I didn’t anticipate to meet such an urban legend on our little… excursion today. You’re not quite what I expected.”

“I hate to disappoint,” Ryan drawls, hand snapping up to grab her wrist, planting a tracker on her glove. He feels Catlad tense up against him and shifts his weight.

“Relax, love.” Catlad’s hands dig into his armour, as if to give him a massage. “You’re so stiff. We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“You broke into a penthouse,” Ryan points out. Catwoman’s fingers dance up his chest, caressing his jawline.

“Who says we didn’t rent the place?” she suggests, leaning close enough he can feel her breath on his face.

“Not a crime to leave through the window, now, is it?” Catlad adds, hooking his chin over his shoulder, his hands trailing down Ryan’s arms.

“The Cat’s Eye,” Ryan presses out, holding very, very still. Catwoman sighs theatrically, holding up the necklace and caressing it lovingly.

“Yes, I suppose I’ll have to put it back,” she murmurs, sounding quite put upon. Then she shrugs and drops the jewelry carelessly onto a glass case. Ryan doesn’t dare take his eyes off her long enough to check on it. “There. Happy now?”

“I can’t just take your word for it,” Ryan returns, almost apologetically. “How do I know you haven’t hidden any other jewelry on your person? Or that you didn’t take anything from the penthouse?”

“So many questions.” Catlad giggles, his lips brushing over Ryan’s jaw as he pulls back. “I like that in a man. But haven’t you heard?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Catwoman finishes, dropping into a crouch and lashing out with a leg. At the same time, Catlad falls back, tugging on his cape. Ryan stumbles, loses his balance, crashes into a showcase. The glass shatters under his weight, and that’s when the alarm goes off. He stumbles back, nearly falling on his ass when something wraps around his feet - a bola?

A chuckle, a flash of movement, and the two cats vanish into the darkness on silent feet. By the time Ryan manages to extricate himself, he can’t find hair or trace of them. The tracker goes on the fritz before they leave the building, and he finds it crushed into pieces in the employee break room with no sign which way they went, leaving him with no trail to follow.

He doubles back, gathers the splintered shells of smoke bombs and that electricity device, puts it into a pouch with the bola for later analysis at the lab. Who knows, they might have left DNA samples or fingerprints - though he rather doubts it. This Catwoman and Catlad have turned out much more competent than he first assumed.

 

* * *

 

“Millionaire playboy with a heart of gold: James Ryan Haywood, heir to the Haywood fortune, single-handedly saves Old Cats Sanctuary,” Gavin reads out loud in a bewildered tone. “The retirement shelter for old and dying cats was facing bankruptcy when Haywood heard of its plight. When asked what moved him to donate one point five million dollars to the shelter’s gofundme, making sure the project reached its goal and more before the deadline by the end of this week, Haywood stated ‘I just felt like it.’”

Gavin gives Meg a wild look where she’s leaning over his shoulder. “Like. Wot?”

“Hmm,” Meg mumbles agreeably, eyes scanning over the article. “Did you know? Ryan’s already invited me to visit the cat café they’re opening with the additional funds.”

Gavin tilts his head back. “He’s using trying to seduce you as his cover, inhe?”

“Mhmm,” Meg agrees, draping her arms around him. “Not that I mind, seeing as it goes to a good cause, but…”

“But he’s not very subtle,” Gavin finishes, his gaze sharpening. “You’re sure he’s Batman?”

“Positive. Like, at least eighty percent certain.” She scratches her nails lightly over his shirt. “He tried hard to modulate his posture and speech pattern, but he fell back on the same charm-and-redirect routine as Haywood when we surprised him by flirting.”

“Well.” He reaches up and clasps her hands, leaning into her. “Well. It does make sense, doesn’t it? Reclusive rich boy bachelor up in his remote manor with security up the wazoo.”

“You tried hacking him?” Meg asks, sounding amused.

“When we ran out of targets “ Gavin snorts. “Even compared to the highest security in richie rich street, that manor’s a fortress. Not that we need it now.”

“What an unexpected development,” Meg muses, lips quirking up. “It’ll be interesting to see where this goes, don’t you think?”

“Are we continuing our crime spree? Since the Sanctuary doesn’t need our help anymore.”

“We should take a break, I think,” Meg says, tilting her head. “But just a short one, figure out what to do next. I want to run into Batman again before long, to make sure.”

Gavin hums, turning his chair around to look up at her from under his lashes. A mischievous grin splits his face.

“I think,” he starts slowly, voice a low and seductive purr, “I think you should find an opportunity to introduce me to Haywood.”

“I will,” Meg promises, scratching her nails through his hair. Laughter dances in her eyes. “Yes. That would be quite… purr-fect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Margaret "Magpie" Pye is a minor Batman comics villain.
> 
> Holly from the shelter is a reference to Holly Robinson (Selina Kyle's trainee and second Catwoman).
> 
> And I'm headcanoning that Gus Sorola is taking the place of Olliver Queen in this AU, ergo the Sorola Hotel chain ;)


End file.
